


Death Takes A Tea Break.

by BarPurple



Series: Two Horsemen of Various Apocalypses [1]
Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett, Supernatural
Genre: Albert's cooking, Gen, Quantum Mechanics, Tea, taking it easy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2018-04-19 22:46:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4763825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarPurple/pseuds/BarPurple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even Death needs to relax and get away from the nonsense of the world. Luckily he knows of a little cottage in a distant country where he can get a cup of tea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Death Takes A Tea Break.

Death watched unseen as the Winchester brothers escaped from this week’s monster. It had been a very close call for both of them. So close in fact Death hadn’t been one hundred per cent sure if they would survive or not. The Winchester’s caused such a complication of the uncertainty principle most theoretical physicists would throw their hands in the air and give it all up as a bad idea.

With a sigh he contemplated the handle of his cane. Several natural disasters were in progress and multiple little wars, as well as a few notable deaths that would normally have caught his interest. A deeper sigh escaped his thin chest, before a small smile grew on his face. He would go and had a cup of tea. Had he chosen to tell anyone of his intention, they may have been surprised. Death taking the afternoon off for a nice cuppa might not sound quite right, but he needed to relax and there was only one place he could do that. The satisfaction of having a plan showed itself in the almost cheerful way he tapped his cane against the ground before disappearing.

The realm he appeared in was not of the Earth he had come from, nor was it really a part of the world it was associated with; this little patch of space/time existed outside of both concepts. Death took in the quaint cottage in shades of black, sitting in its garden of black. The only true colour in this landscape was the ever rippling field of corn. Death remembered when he’d first seen that visual metaphor. He had been impressed then and still found pleasure in the sight. 

The cottage door opened at his approach to reveal the hooked and dripping nose of Albert. 

“Good day Albert.”

The man gave him a nod as he held open the door.

“M’lord. Glad you’re here. The Master’s had a rough day. I’m frying a sandwich if you’re interested.”

Death grinned, Albert’s sandwiches were a master class in calories and proof that a determined cook could fry anything in copious amounts of beef dripping. 

“That would be lovely. He’s in the study?”

“Aye, y’know the way m’lord. I’ll get you some tea.”

Albert ambled off into the long dark halls, muttering to himself as usual. Death strolled into the study and greeted the figure seated behind the desk.

“Hello Death.”

The skeleton raised his head and regarded Death with the blue light that glowed within his eye sockets. There was a smile in his voice that went well with the permanent grin on his bony features.

“HELLO DEATH! HOW IS EARTH?”

The human embodiment of the fourth Horseman settled himself in the leather chair opposite the Death of Discworld.

“Trying to destroy itself as usual. I’ve just had a close encounter of the Winchester kind.”

The skeletal Death of Discworld nodded in sympathy.

“AHA. I’VE JUST HAD A NEAR-VIMES EXPERIENCE.”

The two ultimate endings sighed in mutual understanding. Albert shuffled in carrying a tray with two lethally strong cups of tea and a heart attack on a plate disguised as a sandwich. He didn’t hang around, when the door clicked behind him Death said;

“I THINK HE GETS A LITTLE NERVOUS WHEN WE ARE TOGETHER.”

Death helped himself to a bite of fried cheese and pickle sandwich. This alone was worth the trip, he’d often wondered if he could bribe Dean with Albert’s cooking. The man might actually stay dead for a bite of this sandwich, or it would kill him outright, either way the thought was tempting. As he chewed Death considered Death’s statement.

“Is he still hiding his timer?”

“OH YES. WHAT HE THINKS I’D DO WITH IT ESCAPES ME.”

“Mortality is a hard habit to break. Almost impossible in the case of the Winchesters.”

“WHICH BROTHER WAS IT THIS TIME?”

“Both. In the current scheme of things I expect one of them will die again soon. Then the other will bring him back somehow. The way they play the game you’d think I was running a catch and release salmon stream.”

Discworld’s Death gave a dry chuckle and drank some of his tea. Death wiped his lips on a napkin before asking;

“Has Vimes not settled down any since the birth of his son?”

“A LITTLE, BUT THERE’S ALWAYS A CRIMINAL TO CHASE.”

“Do you ever miss the old days? Before there was all of this quantum nonsense?”

Death poked a bony digit at the fried sandwich, and then carefully mopped the grease from his finger with a napkin.

“OCCASIONALLY, BUT I WILL SAY THAT THINGS ARE MORE INTERESTING THESE DAYS. HUMANS ARE A CONSTANT SURPRISE TO ME. HEROES COME IN SO MANY GUISES THESE DAYS. RINCEWIND FOR EXAMPLE HAS SAVED THE DISC AGAIN. HE GOT CAUGHT UP WITH…”

Death settled himself further into the chair and relaxed as the skeleton related the latest tale of the luckiest* wizzard on the Disc. The little cottage in shades of black might not be exactly to his own taste, but here he could forget the Earth and all the plaid covered problems it held, just for a little while.

 

* Or unluckiest, depending who you asked. Rincewind himself had very firm ideas on the concept of luck.


End file.
